The American Dream
by Fish Wishes
Summary: Captain America is an ideal. The apex of patriotism. Sadly, it became tainted, and the man behind the mask was lost. Until resurfacing three years later when a great shadow falls over Earth.
1. White Picket Fence

**Blanket Disclaimer: **I don't own any of Marvel comics' characters from the Avengers. This is for pure enjoyment. No profit is being made.

"In politics, nothing happens by accident. If it happens, you can bet it was planned that way."  
qtd. Franklin D. Roosevelt

**The American Dream**

**White Picket Fence**

She knocked at 5:18, an unsuspecting time. A woman opened the door, a two year old on her hip—just as her file indicated. Brown hair and eyes. Not pudgy, but obviously not athletic either. Five foot six. A scar twisted pink along her left elbow. This was the woman. This was her target.

"Hi," Agent Romanoff smiled with practiced ease. "Are you Claire Schwann?" The woman nodded, hesitant—confused. She held the child tighter and farther away from the stranger. _A normal reaction, _she noted. Agent Romanoff was not worried about it. She continued, "I'm sorry but I need to talk to you."

Claire instantly sharpened. "Is this about Jason?" A type of ferocity Romanoff wouldn't have associated with this slight, normal looking woman surfaced. Her eyes were hard, worried, determined.

"Your husband is not why I came here to talk," the agent assured, "This is about you, ma'am." Claire cocked her head. She eyed the stranger before inviting her inside.

Smiling again, the agent entered the small cabin. She had already been inside two hours before while her target wasn't home. She scoped out any possible exits, weapons, or useful information for her mission. The house wasn't messy. It was lived in. There were toys, a sippy cup, a mug of half drunken coffee, the newspaper, a tie, and a large throw blanket in the living room. The kitchen had some fresh bread on the counter and a dish in the sink. The beds were made in the rooms, but closets were open and cloths laid out from laundry. The front yard could have used some weeding, but then again the Schwann family owned more than 75 acres of land so upkeep for the neighbors was not really a concern. That piqued Agent Romanoff's curiosity. Where did a family with humble origins get all this money to buy this much land? Sure it might be in the middle of nowhere, but it was backed up to Rocky Mountain National Park and gave a beautiful view of Colorado. It would have at least cost more than a million dollars. She would do more research later.

Claire coaxed her child to play with some blocks in the living room and led Agent Romanoff to the kitchen. "Can I get you anything? Tea?"

"That sounds fine." Romanoff sat on the chair closest to the back door. The tea she got was cold. And sweet. It brought up unpleasant memories of a mission in Nebraska, but she sipped on it anyways. It would make the target feel more comfortable. Fury was very specific that Claire agreed to come with her. Agent Romanoff saw it as a challenge. After all, it took more effort to coerce someone into coming with you instead of knocking them out and dragging them to S.H.I.E.L.D's front door.

"So, what's this 'bout?" The woman spoke with an accent not belonging to Colorado. She sounded as if she was born in a place in the South East.

"You."

Claire steadied her eyes on the stranger. It was a look Agent Romanoff was typically giving. She appreciated those who withstood her own gaze. "I don't like it when people speak in riddles."

"Then let me speak plainly." Agent Romanoff's demeanor cooled. She continued, "Your presence has been requested by S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Is that like homeland security or something? Besides how do I know this is more than just some kidnapping? You sure don't look like a government agent," the woman parried, shifting herself to be in position between Agent Romanoff and her child.

"I didn't wear my uniform because I didn't want to make you panic."

"I rather you would have worn it."

"Anyone could dress up in a uniform."

Claire turned her back to the stranger and looked to her boy, a sign of her crumbling resolve. "Why?"

"I don't know." It was an honest answer. The woman could tell. It was the best answer.

"How long will I be gone?"

"That depends on what Fury wants. I would predict a week or so."

Claire drank some of her tea. "Give me some time to get things together."

Agent Romanoff agreed. "I'll be waiting outside."

Halfway out the door, Claire called, "What about my husband?"

"My assignment was to bring you in, ma'am, not him."

* * *

The drive to the airport was quiet. The child slept in the back of the black, nondescript sedan. "I've texted a few important people, just told them I was going away for a bit. Is that okay?" Claire interrupted the blissful silence.

"If anything inappropriate has been said, we will handle it." Agent Romanoff checked the rearview mirror.

"I didn't tell my husband, though," Claire shared. It was obvious she wanted to say something more so Romanoff said nothing. The woman charged on, "We got in an argument before he left for a hiking trip yesterday." She opened a bottle and took some aspirin. "He always insists on going alone and the stupid Park lets him because they're too thin on personal. He's typically out doing his woodsman stuff for five days or so. I hate those times. I figure if he gives me a scare like that every month I've got the right to do the same."

"I understand, ma'am," Agent Romanoff lied. She had no idea what it was like to sit at home and wait. She didn't wait to find out; she made sure to be in the middle of it all.

Claire smiled anyways. "Jason does that, too, the ma'am thing." They dropped into silence for the rest of the ride.

* * *

Once Agent Romanoff brought Claire in, she wanted another agent to take over her place—immediately. She handled an extraterrestrial attack, playing mind games with Loki, and resisting the desire to kill Tony Stark every time he spoke, but she could_ not _deal with Claire's two year old screaming for his father. He was fine in the car to the air port and spoke in his weird mix of English and child-chatter on the plane, but once they reached S.H.I.E.L.D's headquarters the kid figured out they weren't going to meet daddy and it's been tears and screams since.

Claire tried everything from bribes to singing. Nothing was working. Disgusted Agent Romanoff pushed in front of the mother and took the child by his tiny shoulders, instantly stilling him. "Stop," she commanded, putting all her frustration and anger into her voice. Maxy hiccupped and sobbed a bit, but slowly he was getting himself under control.

"I'm sorry," sighed Claire, "he's really attached to Jason." She picked up her little boy and rubbed his back in assurance (who still had snot dribbling down from his nose). They were standing in S.H.I.E.L.D's lobby. No one stopped for the show. They're more concerned with upping defenses and piecing together intelligence that has been collected over the past three years since the Beginning (as Fury dubbed the incident with the Tesseract and Loki).

Agent Romanoff sighed, "The kid misses his father, that all." Not that she knows, anyways.

"Father?" Claire frowned, her eye brows drawing down. Something was there, her mouth was beginning to form the words—

"Mrs. Schwann!" interrupted a voice, "Happy to have you here."

"Mr. Fury, I assume?" Her guard was back up. She rocked Maxy and shimmied closer to the agent. Romanoff raised an eyebrow. People didn't typically seek her out for safety and protection.

"Just Fury, ma'am," he assured. He was strangely kind, welcoming, for Fury that is. She narrowed her eyes. Something wasn't right. It seems as if some information has been withheld. "Agent Romanoff, I believe Agent Barton needs your assistance with a mission." It was a clear dismissal. Clint wasn't looking for her. He is two continents away and on loan to the U.S Army. He wouldn't be back for another two weeks.

"Sir. Ma'am." She nodded to them and made her way deeper into headquarters with a vendetta to find the intel Fury so unwisely kept from her.

* * *

**Author: **I don't currently have a Beta, but would like to have one. Comment/PM if interested. Please let me know what you think! Reviews are very important and loved! I hope you enjoy this adventure.


	2. Green Grass Lawn

"With a secret like that, at some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant.

The fact that you kept it does not."  
― Sara Gruen, _Water for Elephants_

**The American Dream**

**Green Grass Lawn**

Three days passed with little incident. She had a news conference to keep appearances for the Avengers. The public needed another face besides Stark and Fury. Dr. Banner flat out refused. Clint could have done it, but he wasn't really a good talking in front of crowds. Captain Rogers would have been the next best choice, but he went MIA about three years ago. So, Agent Romanoff put on a smile, wore professional suits, and tactfully answered all the pointed questions. The reporters tried to wheedle her, but their efforts were pathetic and insulting. As if they could shatter her illusion. A minor mission in Pennsylvania to recruit a scientist from Three Mile Island shook things up. The rest of the hours dragged by through practice, training recruits, and sneaking about S.H.I.E.L.D database. Granted, technology wasn't her forte, but she had the highest clearance so she only dealt with minimal clean up.

Although she hadn't seen Claire, she began to piece the woman together: born and raised in South Carolina, went to school for education and never graduated; became a nanny for the blue blooded women of Charleston at 19; married at 26 to a heroin addict who went to jail four months due to multiple DUI's after she pronounced pregnant with her son, Maxy; went into protective custody when her husband was killed in their single wide by the local drug cartel a week after his release from jail on good behavior. She was moved to Colorado where she apparently fell in love again because a year and half later she married again to a Jason Schwann, a park ranger who lived on that patch of land for generations since the 1800's. However, both their bank accounts appear modest at best. Her story was boring. Fury's obvious interest in Claire was the only mismatched piece.

Agent Romanoff tried linking her to the Beginning. She wasn't visiting New York City during the attack. She had no family up there, either. The only way she was affected was the increase of taxes for this next fiscal year to compensate for the newly added extraterrestrial defense department (S.H.I.E.L.D). Even her husband's file was neat and boring: traveled a lot due to his affiliation with the National Park Services. No problems or involvement with what Fury was looking for. Well, nothing in highly secured documents. Which meant one thing: Only Fury knew the link. _Damn him,_ she found herself cursing again. It wasn't as if she would interrogate him. She _could_, but he was her boss and a (normally) morally straight man, and she still had some red to bleach. Adding to it would be counterproductive and illogical.

* * *

She was in the shooting range, testing out a new gun when newer recruits rushed in, murmured to each other, and scurried off. A nervous energy flooded the area. Soon the range was clear and Agent Romanoff was left alone. She would have like that, should have liked that, but her desire for information (not to be confused with curiosity) won out, and she found herself stalking the oddly deserted hallways. The light ahead silhouetted the crowd standing silently around two men. Fights didn't happen. Unless Fury allowed them, and it seemed as if from his spot in the front of the circle he was enjoying himself, a cruel smirk creasing his face.

A S.H.I.E.L.D agent threw a punch, but the stranger easily dodged the attack and brought the man to his knees. Another agent stepped in. The same result occurred. Agent Romanoff shifted to get a better look at the opponent. He was tall and wore civilian clothing. Jeans. Plaid shirt. Hiking boots. Long, brown hair. Beard. She compared him to a taller, more lean, Thor look-a-like. The way he handled himself was familiar. Simple motions. Nothing fancy. Very unlike the complicated training and styles agents study. Yet he was doing admirably against these government trained men.

"Fury!" the man roared, his blue eyes glinting like deadly razors. "Stop this!"

"No," Fury deadpanned, amusement gone.

"You promised!" his voice cracked. It was a disgusting display of weakness in her opinion.

"And you, Jason," he sneered, "are going to have a child."

Agent Romanoff looked at the man again. The picture provided by the DMV in the database seemed to align with what she saw. This man was Claire's husband. But he knew Fury. How did a Park Ranger know Fury? Better yet, how did Fury let a Park Ranger come to know him? She stepped forward. The other agents made an easy path for her. She slid up to Fury. "Sir," she murmured, although her eyes were trained on the intruder.

"Agent Romanoff, wonderful timing," Fury growled.

The man took a threatening step forward. "Fury!" he tried again, "Where is she?"

"And I thought your mama taught you manners," the director of the Avengers mocked. The stranger strained to keep his mouth shut. "Good. Now, your dear little wife is perfectly fine. In fact, she agreed to come in. No one forced her. Do you think we are that horrible of an agency?" Sarcasm was obvious in the last statement. Everyone's face remained a stony mask, not daring to react.

"She doesn't know anything, though! You're only preying on her ignorance!" countered the man.

"This is true, but," Fury leaned forward scornfully, "It's not my fault now is it?"

"Just let me see her, talk to her," he begged, his broad shoulders sagging.

"Now that's a reasonable request." Fury grinned his toothy grin that didn't mean anything good. "Agent Romanoff brought her in. She'll show you where Claire is."

Jason bowed his head. Complete submission. After watching such a capable man bring multiple, highly trained agents to their knees it was shameful to see him collapse just for a woman. Frowning, she turned her back and began walking away. The murmur of the crowd dropped away and footsteps echoed behind her. They were heavy and steady.

"How do you know I'm not taking you to her?" she questioned.

"You wouldn't do that." He sounded confident, bold, obnoxious.

"You don't know me," she said, stopping in front of an elevator.

"Yes, I do. You're an Avenger."

Scoffing, she turned to stare at him. "And that means what? I won't disappear for three years, go create an alternate life, get married and lie to my wife?" She let her emotions slip through. She took a sharp breath in her nose. "Why'd you do it?" she asked when they were in the elevator. There was only so much files could tell you which is why she preferred the more _personal_way of garnering intel.

He scrubbed at his beard. There were horrible dark circles under his eyes. It reminded her of when Clint was under Loki's control. "I suppose I grew up. Stopped acting like a blind soldier." He scoffed, "Stopped acting like Captain America."

She hummed, "Ah, so you saw the darker side of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Nothing else was said until they got to a door when Captain Rogers immediately accused, "You locked her in here! Fury lied when he said she came here by choice. I knew it—"

The door flew open and a tired mother glared out from the shadows. "Do you two know what time it is?" she hissed, stepping out into the light. If there was any question about her being attractive it was dispelled by her current disheveled appearance: crazy, uncombed hair, an ugly t-shirt and sweatpants that looked suspiciously like a man's.

"Eight," he groaned.

"Yes, Jason, eight!" she accused. Obviously Agent Romanoff was missing something.

"Claire, I was worried! I didn't know what happened to you. Please, I'm sorry! But I'm here. You're here!" He reached for her, but she pulled away.

"Yes, you are here. Jason Kidd Schwann I think you have some explaining to do." She crossed her arms and looked mildly threatening. However, a cry rose up from inside the room. "But first, you get to go in and apologize to Maxy for waking him up an hour early and then explain to him—and me—why we're here," she snapped.

Steve stepped towards his wife, but rethought that impulse when she sent another burning glare and went into the room. "Hey, buddy, guess who it is?" his voice was soft and cooing.

_Disgusting_.

"Agent Romanoff," Claire said.

"Ma'am?"

"Don't listen at the door."

When the door clicked shut a surprising smile sprouted on her face. "I don't need to ma'am." The smiled died before it could bloom. Fury was done dodging Agent Romanoff.

* * *

**Author**: The next chapter will do some explaining. Not everything, of course, Fury likes to play, and he would never reveal everything at once! Thank you for all the reviews, and I look forward to further comments! They are both encouraging and insightful!


	3. Gold Diamond Ring

"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Fellowship of the Ring_

**The American Dream**

**Gold Diamond Ring**

Nick Fury sighs. Not the I'm-so-tired-I-can't-handle-this sigh. The why-the-hell-can't-this-woman-just-let-it-be sigh. Agent Romanoff's shoulder twitches. She's annoyed, or angry, they're mostly the same thing. They continue to glower at each other. Fury's empty office is filled with his annoyance at being bothered with such ridiculous questions.

"Think I have the right—"

"No. You don't," Fury interrupts, obviously not distressed about the idea of having a vengeful Russian-trained spy on his ass, "If you did, you would have been informed. But guess what? You weren't."

Her face screwed into a sneer. "Don't treat me like some lowly operative. I could have stayed in Russia for that," she said passively. She was controlling her inflection too much, over compensating for lingering emotions.

"Don't give me that shit!" He jabs a finger at her. "You don't even believe that. You know what you signed on for. You agreed. I gave you a way to help you sleep at night," he lectured, slamming forgotten files around. There were no paper weights anymore. Coulson always replaced the ones he broke, and he shattered his last one before the Beginning. Coulson never got around to getting him another one.

Agent Romanoff was leaving when Fury barked, "Where the hell do you think you're going? You asked a question and now you're leaving before you get the answer? Unprofessional."

She stalled a few seconds to collect herself before turning back around to see Fury's smirk. "Take a seat, agent."

She ignored the offer.

He frowned. "Captain Rogers requested a resignation from the Avenger's Initiative and as a S.H.I.E.L.D operative. You know how morally tight his ass is. The world's black and white to grandpa. He said he "couldn't take it anymore." Threatened to come out to the news to prove the corruption of S.H.I.E.L.D—which we aren't—so after some careful negotiating Steve Rogers became Jason Schwann. A civilian. A dream come true," Fury mocked. "With the way things were working out, it was better to let him go and do his thing than try to keep him here. It's bad enough Captain America hasn't made a public appearance in years, but it'd be worse if we had a bunch of supporters, and there would be a lot, behind him and parading around outside our door. It really wouldn't be a great work environment."

Agent Romanoff stared at Fury, eyebrows cocked in disbelief. "That's it?"

Fury cocked his head. "Excuse me?"

"That's all you're going to tell me? A two minute conversation with the Captain and any greenhorn could tell you that," she snapped.

"What the hell do you want me to say?" he snarled. "I'm not Steve Rogers in case you haven't noticed. I can't give you all the juicy details you're always so keen on digging up. "

"What missions was he on?" Agent Romanoff changed the subject.

"Doesn't matter."

Frowning, she tried another angle. "Why did you go after his wife?"

"Because it was the best way to bring him in."

"Why did you go after his wife?" she repeated. He needed to be more open with her; especially with something as sensitive as this.

"She's pregnant."

"Planned it?"

"Planned Rogers to hate S.H.I.E.L.D so he would go out and copulate to see if his super powers were genetically inheritable?" he mocked. "Christ, no!" He shrugged and smiled wryly. "It just happened to work out beneficially."

"He'll leave here as soon as his wife agrees to it," she predicted.

"No. He won't." Fury was too confident. He was grinning his grin, his good eye crinkled with devious intentions.

"You think a man will continue to work for an organization that he not only quit and doesn't believe in anymore, but tricked his wife, child, and unborn baby away from him?" she scoffed.

"Technically, you did the last half and yes."

"That's plan I'd like to hear." Agent Romanoff shook her head and turned her back.

"Oh, you would. After all, you're the lynch pin," Fury wheedled.

She stood, facing the other way, a smile tweaking her lips. Fury was still a man, and she was still the Black Widow. She schooled her features before facing the director again, eyes narrow and suspicious.

"Your skill of stealing information is just as good as planting it into people's heads. Claire needs to be convinced that staying here would be best for her and the baby. Like you said, Steve will only leave if she agrees to it, and we need to track the baby's progress," he confided.

"Dealing with angry, hormonal women wasn't a big part of my training," she jeered.

"Consider it practice so you might not be inept in the future."

They're sitting across each other in the living room. The lent out apartment reminded her of the suite they stayed in on their honeymoon. Sparse but accommodating with a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom—that's where Maxy was taking his nap. Thank God for naps.

"Claire."

She looked at him, unsure of what she should be seeing. She saw her husband, Jason, looking hurt and scared. She's never associated him to those emotions. During arguments he would become flustered and confused. When Maxy had his first asthma attack he was a calm and sturdy. At the wedding ceremony he'd been nervous and jittery. He has this undercurrent of confidence. Now there was no confidence, only a shattered picture of Jason Schwann and Steve Rogers. She hated that man. _Steve Rogers_. Such inexplicable anger surged forth at his name. She read all she could about him on the internet. Saw the pictures, old and new. Fury gave her some information, but it was evident more sensitive material was edited out.

Not only did she hate Steve Rogers, she hated the mysteries and darkness surrounding him. It was like Davy all over again. Sneaking the drugs, telling her to stay out of his business, and not to worry. She heard the three gunshots and watched as the men left their trailer like they were leaving a party. She thought those days were over. Yet, she finds herself full circle, and almost wishing it ended with drugs and murder again, not with super humans and heroes. Drugs and murder were real. Super humans and heroes were fictional. Stories she told to Maxy when he couldn't go to sleep. Even when she saw the Avengers on the news she didn't take too much stock in them, she'd been preoccupied in those days.

But she loved Jason. She doesn't remember how they met. (You never really do with your best friend. You just come together.) She loved his honesty and his ability to be polite. When she told him about Maxy and how he didn't have a daddy, Jason said, "Ma'am, your boy is lucky to have you, but there are some things only a father can do for him"

She laughed and asked if he wanted to be the daddy.

He blushed so red she thought his whiskers turned color! He was cute and handsome. A boy and a man.

He explained to Maxy they were here so he could protect a lot of people, help a lot of people, but he didn't want to worry about something happening to him and mommy if he was working. He trusted the people in the building. The two year old really didn't care, as long as Daddy was there to swing him around and throw him in the air and read him bed time stories.

Claire didn't understand why he came back. Why he agreed to do this Avengers thing. Can't someone else save the world? Can't someone else step up and be Steve Rogers, the man she hates, so Jason Schwann just be the man she loves? Why wasn't he a little dishonorable? Would it be so bad if he just said no to being the Hero?

"So what have Maxy and you been up to?" Jason began, his eyes shifting around the room.

"There's a pool here. He's played in that a lot. I've been reading. Nothing leisure, though."

He got the hint. He rubbed his hands together. Jason did that when he was dealing with something complicated like the bills or taxes. She guessed so did Steve.

"What do I call you?" Claire sighed.

He met her gaze. Hope. She saw hope now. "I think," he hedged, "you should call me what you feel most comfortable with."

She glanced away and scratched her nose. "Well, I think you should go lay down with Maxy. You look like you haven't slept in days."

Steve smiled wearily.

"Don't say anything," she sighed. "Just go to bed, Steve."

His eyes softened. He reached out, squeezed Claire's hand, and retreated into the bedroom. The bed creaked when he joined Maxy. She found her head in her hands a moment later. She wanted to cry. She wanted to turn the coffee table over. She wanted to kiss Jason. She wanted to hit Steve. Instead she stood up and left, the door whispering closed behind her.

**Author:** What's this, another chapter? Nuh-uh! Did this actually answer any questions? I dunno, you'll have to tell me! Review darlings and tell me what you think! =] Thank you for all the reviews, reads, alerts, and favorites! It warms my heart so many people are enjoying my writing.


	4. Man's Best Friend

"Now our lives are changing fast /

Hope that something pure can last"

—_Arcade Fire_, "We Used to Wait"

**The American Dream**

**Man's Best Friend**

Agent Romanoff predicted she wouldn't be seeing Captain Rogers or his wife again today (couples reuniting and all that). So when Claire stormed up to her and demanded "girl time," she almost refused. Fury's mocking tone scraping her nerves didn't put her in position to deal with an unstable target. However, she received a mission. The mission came first. Shoving down all her frustration and pride, Agent Romanoff inclined her head and submitted herself to whatever "girl time" implied—which she never should have done. She avoided ignorant decisions, but sometimes the options were slim and reliable information sparse, and she ended up on the wrong end of a very uneducated choice. Like right now.

"Well, go on!"

"Excuse me?" Agent Romanoff furrowed her forehead.

"Mr. Fury said you're a spy. So, I figured you must be dying to ask me some questions. And here I am giving you the permission to ask me anything!" Claire smiled in the seat next to her. She appeared genuinely excited and open.

Agent Romanoff, in fact, was not_ dying_ to know anything, but she wasn't one to let such prospects be left on the plate like the vegetables from a child's meal to be snuck to the dog. "You knew."

Claire huffed, "That ain't much of a question."

"You knew something was hidden," she continued, driving down the highway. "You just didn't know what. His face was on the every news channel. He is the icon for patriotic propaganda. How did you not know?"

"You're right about knowing something. A man can't hide anything forever." Claire pursed her shiny-glossed lips together (she looked almost pretty with the help of makeup). "I just figured I'd give him space and time because for whatever reason he decided not to tell me about this alter ego. Something in him snapped. He couldn't take it. Sometimes it's better if you don't force a person to tell you their deepest, darkest secret. Often you don't want to know it, and they just end up hating you."

Agent Romanoff hummed in agreement. Most of her missions followed that story line.

"I'd thought it was something like he's a recovered drug addict or has some freaky fetish, nothing we couldn't work though."

She keyed in. "You don't think you can handle having your husband be an Avenger?"

"I don't think I can handle having my husband risk his life for a bunch of ungrateful, low down SOBs," Claire snapped. She watched the news reels online. She saw the reactions from the attack on New York.

"It's not about the secret."

"Never was. I didn't date cops, firefighters, and soldiers for a reason. Almost didn't date Jas—Steve because he worked for Park. I watched what it was like for my mom. Not knowing if her husband might end up shot in a hospital or dead on the street. I know what it's like to grow up not knowing your dad because he's too exhausted to play with his kid or worrying about rescuing other kids. I'm going to have none of that for Maxy." Her strong tone wavered. "That's what I originally planned, but I ain't so sure now..."

This was the dramatic part Agent Romanoff did _not _like or cared to hear about. She could manipulate emotions and get the needed information, but once it began to overflow she's the one who becomes uncomfortable—not the target, not like how it's suppose to be.

Claire fiddled with her hair (it was annoying and timid). "Do you ever have trouble separating who you are and who you are for the job? Steve has Jason, I guess, to create a distinction. But what about you?'

Agent Romanoff almost didn't answer the question. It was too personal. But she didn't want Mrs. Schwann making any fanciful, misguided judgments based on whatever she's learned through Fury and his revised files. "Sarah, Francine, Elizabeth, Carrie, Annie—these are some of the people I've been. Now, I have no reason to be anyone but myself. Inside and outside of work I am Natasha Romanoff. I am the Black Widow," she declared.

Claire stared, and then mumbled, "Each to her own."

* * *

After an hour of simply meandering through a mediocre mall and pretending she cared about the things Claire pointed out, she interrupted, "What are we doing?" They were near the food court, smells of Chinese and greasy pizza stuck to her.

"Girl time," the brunette faltered, unsure of her own words. "Haven't you done this before?"

"No," Agent Romanoff deadpanned. She expected some type of lecture on the importance of being a woman and getting away from men and something horribly cliché. "I guess that makes two of us," was the unprecedented response.

Yearning for an insight to their family dynamics, the spy pushed, "What do you mean?"

"Steve has to drag me out to go shopping. He loves it, though. I never got it, but it makes sense now, I guess. He's still amazed by what you can buy in stores. It kills him when he buys products from China or whatever. Such a patriot, through and through."

Agent Romanoff thought of their brief conversation. _"Stopped acting like Captain America,"_ his tired voice murmured through her impatience. Instead of commenting, however, she steered the conversation in another way. "You called him Steve."

"Ain't that his name?" Claire joked. It was a poor cover up for her anxiety.

"What does that mean?" The S.H.I.E.L.D agent knew she breeched into unsafe territory. She saw it by the way her target's shoulders tightened and drew in, angled her body, and squinted her eyes. Natasha didn't care. She wanted to be reckless, if only to torque Fury if Claire left.

"It means I'm trying to get to know a stranger pretty fast so he can go back to being my husband," Mrs. Schwann clipped.

"It's not going to click back into place."

Her target frowned. "I think I know why I've never had "girl time" before."

Agent Romanoff agreed.

* * *

It's been a week. Director Fury was right. Claire was still here and so was the Captain. Agent Romanoff didn't encourage her to remain at SHIELD. One could argue she ignored certain aspects of the mission. If a report was created, it would note the number of disagreements Mrs. Schwann and she had (although only through brief, verbal exchanges). Natasha disliked Claire and tried to prevent the woman from constantly seeking her out. Unfortunately, the target gravitated to her. Why? The agent didn't care. She didn't want to know because she predicted it was linked to Captain Rogers—who she's not seen since his arrival. She is the Black Widow. She doesn't have time for drama associate with pregnancy, families, and having an alternate life.

Director Fury disagrees. "Keeping Claire here and protected is your primary concern. Unless Loki escapes, the Tesseract goes missing, or aliens invade: You. Stay. Here." He valiantly ignored Agent Romanoff for the next hour as she hovered in the shadows. The recon missions never so appealing as now.

Agent Barton arrives back at headquarters early. "Nat," he greets when they meet in the cafeteria for their traditional meal of cheeseburgers (a reminder they're safely back in the States). "How is he?"

She chews on her food.

Clint scoffs, "Really? Figures." He bites into the sandwich as if was to blame for her bad mood. They sat on faded, worn benches and ate on chipped, flaking tables. Funding was low. Most of SHIELD's money was allocated to the reconstruction of New York City and then any following places which received damage due to Avenger activity. It was a part of the Contract, an agreement with a whole lot of clauses and red tape created by the Council to harness Director Fury, SHIELD, and the Avengers Initiative. Well, to _try_ to. Their effort was bemusing. Despite the cafeteria's grungy atmosphere, it was home. It wasn't a cold, utilitarian place. It had character.

Then there's Rogers, trailing after Maxy. He shaved and cut his hair. He looks like Captain America again. During World War Two people needed a symbol of Patriotism and War. Now, the citizens of the United States needed a symbol of Peace and Unity. What spoke of these two things more so than the greatest soldier laying down his arms and uniform to become a husband and a father? It would be great for publicity; Fury knew that, of course. He was a master manipulator, though.

Maxy's begging echoed across the room. He wants fruit gummies. Rogers convinces him a fruit cup was better. The kid believes him.

"Nat."

She glances at her cheeseburger. Clint sighs and fiddles with a floppy French fry.

"Have you met her yet?"

He knew what she was talking about. "I read her file. Fury's holding a lot back, isn't he? Did she really not know?"

Natasha hums. Maxy screws up his face at a sour blueberry. Steve laughs. Happy. How could he be happy now? His world is gone. The one he's tried to build disintegrates—and he doesn't know it. He assumes good footing, but really the trail ahead is sandy and uphill.

_He'll find out soon enough_. She doesn't mourn his loss of innocence. "Everyone's going to be at the meeting," she states.

"It's been three years since we've been together as a team." Clint scratches at his eyebrow. He's exhausted and grateful he doesn't have to fortify himself for a congregation of six superheroes.

"A lot will be revealed."

He stares at her. "A lot has already been reveled." She glances at him before going back to watching Steve and Maxy.

* * *

**Author: **Although this chapter might have felt like it dragged (and was repetitive) I hinted at the real plot! Fancy~ I hoped you paid attention. =]

Also, if you can think of any other idioms/clichés relating to the idea of the American Dream, let me know! I'm starting to run out of chapter titles! xD

I'm still on a hunt for a good beta reader, as well!

Thank you everyone for your kind and encouraging words as well as all favorites and followings! Please, continue! I would love to know where you think I'm going to take this story!


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